


wash off the sand before you get in to my bed

by yuhneels



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Comfort/Angst, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Las Vegas Era (The Goldfinch), M/M, POV Boris Pavlikovsky, Young Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky, boreo in bed, doing your work donna- ur welcome hun, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuhneels/pseuds/yuhneels
Summary: I didn't know when or how I fell asleep, all I remember was waking up by the warm sunlight shining through the window, tickling my skin and letting it heat up, probably leaving a sunburn. My hand still placed on top of Potter's head, who was still clutching onto me as if his miserable life depends on it. My back hurt from the position I was in, but I was too scared to wake him up, so I just sat  there, looking through the messy room- basic furniture, mismatched woods, clothes everywhere, full ashtrays with empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol (well, at least the alcohol we could steal from Xandra or shoplift without drawing attention to us at the local supermarket) placed next to them... a familiar and sort of- calming set up. The life Potter and I had, was special- nothing new to me, I had similar situations and life conditions before, worse case scenarios- no food or water for days on row- but not with a person like him- he was different- fragile... like a caged bird, unable to open his wings and fly away from the life he got sucked in. No escape.
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	wash off the sand before you get in to my bed

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is- it just came to my mind and I HAD to write it so ig. ur welcome;) thx again to my good friend Pau, who checked for the spelling/grammar mistakes- shout out to u bby.

* * *

The first time I caught myself staring at him in class, was shortly after I basically started to live with him. I was sitting one row behind his desk, not even caring what the teacher was talking about or in which class I was in. My eyes just completely focused on his dark, blond hair which needed a cut- since the front pieces were already falling in his eyes and he'd constantly push it out of his sight to be able to see through his glasses and see his notes- a movement I adored and secretly hoped, he wouldn't cut it so soon... an pleasant view for me which I could stare at for the rest of my life, unable to pull my eyes from him. He was wearing my t shirt (clearly the wrong way since I saw the small piece of paper, which had some informations from the clothing written on it, that no one really reads and mostly just cuts away, sticking out, but he was too busy having a playful argument with me, over something I've already forgotten, while pulling the fabric over his head.) - way too big for him- even too big for me, but it was the first thing that he layed his hands this morning and I adored the way it fell over his small frame of a body. I never thought I would once get attached to little things he does- until I found myself copying his movements I studied about him for hours without end- small gestures he does, like a small twitch of his lips when he tries to concentrate on his homework or the nervous motions he does, while explaining to me that the point I made was total bullshit and doesn't make any sense... but no matter what- I will always be aware of the admiration that linger in his eyes when I say something, eyes that mirror and reflect the trauma and pain he went through- the guilt and grief... I feel sorry for him. 

* * *

Our two bodies were lazily covered by a thin blanket, nearly too small too even fit one person under (we somehow managed to still sloppily get comfy under it), the bright moon lit the small, messy room in a blue, dim colour which gave the empty bottles and dirty piles of clothes a dark outline. The small window above the cluttered desk was seemingly open, a cool breeze slowly letting the stinging, yet comforting smell of alcohol, smoke and sweat fade away into nothingness- something I'm fully aware of but have put in the back of my head, paying attention to everything and nothing. The mattress was soft and perfectly wrapped itself around us- around me and Potter. I felt his spine against my chest and his torso pressed against my stomach, chapped lips which belonged to me were firmly brushing against the baby hair on his neck, headphone wires connecting us to the small iPod that was placed in front of Potter, which was playing some songs (Potter always lectures me that it's actually called a piece and not a song, but I like the face he makes when he gets upset- with that typical ''you dumb bastard'' face he always has on when I open my mouth... ah yes, potter and his cute expressions.. like an upset puppy, whining all the time) from Beethoven and Vivaldi and other old composers I never really cared to remember. Just like every night. 

I was wide awake, one arm holding him protectively and pulling him closer, feeling him also clinging onto my arm while I drew small circles over his chest, which was covered by a t-shirt we shoplifted from a store some months ago. 

_''Boris?''_

Potter shifted around and I let go of him as a reflex- a reflex I have developed during time, to not freak him out. Potter has problems. Always so careful of things, scared of what people would think. Except when he's drunk.. then he sees nothing wrong with physical contact... he was actually the one making the first move. It was late at night and he had surprisingly chunked down half of a Vodka bottle, after an uncountable amount of beer. He was fucked up, blabbing about these, that.. everything. I thought that I just have dreamt the next moments, since I wasn't really sober myself, had twice as much beer in my inputs- couldn't really see everything clear, until I woke up the next morning and looked into the eyes of the reflection of the person in the mirror, big, dark spots on my neck and collarbones... but he didn't seem to remember (or just didn't want to remember)and I decided the best thing is just to not bring it up and stress him out even more... I didn't even know if he meant what he did or if it just was a reaction in the heat of the moment or needed the affection he hasn't gotten in the past. So it stayed like that until this was routine in our daily doses of getting fucked up. I needa say, I'm kinda getting inpatient- I have no idea what to do or how to act- when he's all over me, saying my name in a voice that gives me a cold shiver down my spine, when he touches me in places that makes my cheeks hot- but once we wake up, it's as if nothing has happened. As if it has swept away like air through the window. He is aware of it- but he never asked or said anything about the marks I also leave on him. 

_''Is late, Potter. Go back to sleep''_

But the stupid boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking down at me, the second part of the earphone fell out of his ear onto his lap. I myself also lifted my tired and fucked up body, looking back at him.

_''Mhpf- can't sleep.''_

I playful rolled my eyes and tapped my knuckles against his head (idiot) and gave him a smirk. He lightly pushed me back on my shoulder and threw some insults under his breath at me, but I could see him slightly smile in the dim light of the moon. I like seeing him smile, especially when I'm the reason he does, Life has punished him enough already, it feels good to take at least a bit weight from his bruised, fragile shoulders that was pulling him down deeper into a hole of pain and depression... even if it's just for a short amount of time. I remember how he looked when he didn't even knew me- I have had him in my vision since day one. He stood out like a pig in a horse stable. Nude coloured flannels, long jeans and round glasses, which were placed on a pale face with tired looking eyes, slightly furrowed eyebrows that perfectly fit to the frowning lips- pink, thin lips that never opened to speak. The quiet, depressed new kid from New York. But now, it turns out he isn't quiet at all. Potter always has something to say and even when not, he doesn't bother to insult the living shit out of me, which is really amusing. He is hard to read, one of the most interesting person I have ever met -I have to say... there's always something to find out about him, and I have made it my life goal to find out everything that's on his weird, twisted mind.

_''глупый мальчик, if you're not gonna sleep, I have to listen to your whining. Like little girl''_

Potter chuckled and he closed his eyes for a second- before doing something I've never though would happen while he was well aware of the current situation. He slowly laid back down - but rested his head on my lap, hugging my torso. A warm feeling started to spread through my entire body, a feeling which made me smile down to him and immediately, I started petting and playing with his golden, unwashed hair- a familiar gesture I always do when he wakes up sobbing and screaming, sweat dripping down his chin and onto the bedsheets that weren't washed since- well, since I basically lived with him. I would pull him back down and my hands were immediately placed in his curls, humming and singing sweet lullabies to him and I felt him calming down and just a few moments later, he was drooling onto my shirt, slow and peaceful breathing assuring me that he was asleep. 

...

I didn't know when or how I fell asleep, all I remember was waking up by the warm sunlight shining through the window, tickling my skin and letting it heat up, probably leaving a sunburn. My hand still placed on top of Potter's head, who was still clutching onto me as if his miserable life depends on it. My back hurt from the position I was in, but I was too scared to wake him up, so I just sat there, looking through the messy room- basic furniture, mismatched woods, clothes everywhere, full ashtrays with empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol (well, at least the alcohol we could steal from Xandra or shoplift without drawing attention to us at the local supermarket) placed next to them... a familiar and sort of- calming set up. The life Potter and I had, was special- nothing new to me, I had similar situations and life conditions before, worse case scenarios- no food or water for days on row- but not with a person like him- he was different- fragile... like a caged bird, unable to open his wings and fly away from the life he got sucked in. No escape. And I felt obligated to- to help him- to help him get freed from those chains that were tying him to this world of deep depression and guilt- I feel obligated to protect him from himself. People might say I'm a bad influence and from what I heard his mother was like (nice lady I have to say, reminded me of someone I once met on street) she would have hated my guts- she wouldn't be pleased to find out what her precious and innocent boy is doing right now- consuming drugs and alcohol on a daily base, shoplifting and being with some strange slavic boy- well me- she wouldn't even let her son _'Theo'_ (eh- have I ever called him by his name?) even be in one room with me... but Potter seems- happier than when he came to Vegas- he smiles more, has fun getting high, the two of us chasing each other through the house, throwing all kinds of insult at the others heads, reading novels together while drinking tea (of course with lots of sugar- I do not like bitter taste- life is to short with tea without sugar, as my mother has told me when I was young little brat, shitting my pants like a champion) which is the only other liquid other than alcohol we consumed, watching movies together or making fun of people on the news... he seems less sad when I am distracting him... and sometimes it seemed like he forgetst for a split moment what he went through, as if he let go of all those bad thoughts and opened his wings for a short second.

_''Vegas sucks... can't even sleep past 9 or else you'll get a heatstroke''_

_''Ha! Told you. Whining like little girl. Next time better listen to Boris, yes?''_

He let go my torso and laid on his back, folding is hands on his stomach and looking at me, rolling his eyes, with which I returned a smirk, feeling my hair fall down to block a bit of my vision, but since I was used to it, I didn't mind as long as I saw most of the boyish face of Potters. It amused me how right I was about him. When there's something I knew better than getting cheap drugs, then it's Potter. And I know a lot of him and yet, nothing. He managed to always surprise me with new things that he slowly started to reveal. It was really entertaining to stare at him, trying to recall things I already were aware of and saving new won informations, like how he always has a slight knit in his eyebrows or the greenish shimmer that his iris had. And yet, there's much more to find out. Like- he was a christmas gift and I am able to slowly unwrap his mind.

" _Because- let me guess... you're always right?"_

_"yes, exactly. 'm always right Potter."_

And the rest of the morning we spent down in the kitchen, him trying to make pancakes, which turned out either too thick or not even close to being round- that lead into Potter getting annoyed and cursing me out for making fun of his behaviour ( _"stop laughing you fucker! Wanna try it your self or what?!"_ ). But we still ended up eating them all- he ate them with shoplifted nutella and I put loads of sugar onto them _("is the same as that nougat cream ur putting onto them."_ I said after he looked at my eating combo with a judgemental look).


End file.
